Bequest
by nickeldime17
Summary: Tag to episode 3.02 The Kids Are Alright. If Ben really were Dean's, an expansion of Little Lie's premise.
1. Hope

Title: Bequest

Rating: Teen due to death, sexuality, and some language

Characters: Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden, Sam Winchester, Ruby, Ben Braeden, Lucas Barr

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to me.

Spoilers: 3.02 The Kids are Alright

Author's Note: We all know that Ben couldn't possibly be Dean's kid for the show's purposes, but they were just too cute for me to resist. I expanded the idea past 'Little Lie' and this is what it ended up as. Four parts total; one is Lisa's POV, then Dean's, Sam's and finally, Ben's. I hope you all enjoy it, because I absolutely loved writing it.

**There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots; the other, wings. – William Hodding Carter, Jr.**

_Part 1: Hope_

Lisa gulped and adjusted her leather skirt so that it covered just a little bit more thigh. She shouldn't be here. She wasn't the kind of girl who hung out in a biker bar looking for a guy with a tattoo, some scars, and no mailing address to have a one night stand with. Her daddy had raised her not to be that girl.

It was the thought of her father that had her tilting her chin up and straightening her shoulders as she pulled the door open. Smoke and loud rock and roll filled the air and Lisa had to breathe very shallowly to keep from coughing. She so should not be here.

"You in or out, honey?"

She jumped and spun to stare at the person who had come up so suddenly behind her. The woman was looking at her with amusement and Lisa blushed. "What?"

The woman gestured, long red fingernails pointing past the girl into the bar. "Are you going in or coming out?"

"In," Lisa said, "I think."

Red lips smiled and Lisa found herself smiling hesitantly back, "C'mon honey, first one's on me."

She didn't even need to use the fake ID she'd nervously tucked into her purse this evening, the bar tender hadn't even glanced at her as he slid down a shot of tequila. Lisa downed it determinedly, closing her eyes at the feel of the alcohol burning down her throat. She felt a pat on her back and gave the woman who'd bought it a grateful smile as the blonde moved away with a wink.

"You want another one, sweetheart?"

He was pierced in too many places to name and tattoos ran the entire length of both arms that the muscle shirt bared. A week ago she would have crossed the street if she saw him coming, but now she just leaned forward and smiled, "Please."

The second shot, a double this time, went down just as easy as the first. Lisa stared at the glass, at the droplets that ran down the sides and condensed on the bottom. Her father had caught her the two times she'd ever participated in underage drinking, and he'd grounded her when she stumbled in past her curfew, singing at the top of her lungs. Never could slip anything past Isaac Braeden.

She let out a little laugh and asked for a scotch this time, the guy who'd sauntered up to the bar beside her even bought it for her. She gave him a speculative glance. He was gorgeous; all long lashes and big green eyes, and if those freckles weren't the most adorable thing she'd ever seen on a grown man…It was his smile that clinched it though. It was just a half-smile, more a smirk really, with just a hint of a pout, and as the bartender set the tumbler down in front of her and passed him a cold beer, Lisa knew she'd found the guy she was taking home with her.

"Dean Winchester."

"Lisa Braeden."

He turned his body to face her more fully and she liked the fact that he wasn't looking at her cleavage in the halter top, but meeting her eyes. "Well, Lisa Braeden, what are we drinking to?"

She thought for a moment and raised her glass. "To my father, the bastard."

His smile grew and she read appreciation in his hazel eyes. "Now that's something to toast to." And his bottle clinked against her glass before he took a long gulp. Lisa sipped delicately at the liquor and watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "So, what'd he do?"

Her gaze dropped to the amber liquid. "He died."

"Shit, that sucks."

She looked up sharply, wondering at the matter of fact tone and ready to tell him to fuck off, but his eyes were empathetic and she felt herself fighting not to cry instead. "My mom died when I was born, so it was always just me and him," she could remember his laughing dark eyes and his strong arms, "He had cancer, had it for two years, and didn't tell me. Thought if he didn't say anything, it wasn't real. God, so stupid." She tilted back the glass and finished off the scotch. "How about you?"

He shrugged, "I'm not so interesting."

Didn't want to talk, that was fine. Talking wasn't what she wanted him for. "Somehow I doubt that, but I'll let it slide. You in town long?"

"Just passing through," he assured her, "I'm on a road trip; five states in five days."

"How's that working for you?"

"As of this moment, pretty well." He'd gotten his smirk back and gave her a once over in a deliberately smarmy way. It made her laugh.

"I want to have fun tonight, Dean Winchester."

His smirk widened into a lazy smile and she swore his eyes got a little brighter. "I'm plenty of fun, Lisa Braeden."

Fun wasn't the half of it. Lisa was still in bed at noon the next day, sprawled across the sheets, smiling and sated. He'd driven them back to her loft in a car that screamed of danger and power and other naughty things and then he'd proceeded to show her just how much of a good time he could give her.

It had kind of been like opening a gift someone got you on a whim as she slowly helped him strip off three layers to reveal the skin beneath. He was smooth and golden and she had run her fingers over the scars that were sprinkled across his flesh the way stars were in the sky. "I like surprises," she'd told him, her lips tracing one on his bicep.

It had been the second time when she'd informed him that she was a yoga instructor and she thought his grin might've been able to split his face in two. She'd never met anyone as flexible as her, but Dean came in a very close second and the things he'd done with his tongue…

Lisa giggled into her pillow as she recalled with perfect clarity the third and fourth time they had coupled and sighed at the memory of the last time, just half an hour ago, before he'd left. It had been the best night of her life and that was a fact that was likely to remain until she died. There was no way on God's little green earth that Lisa would ever forget Dean Winchester.

A fact that was made abundantly clear a month later when things had finally settled down. Neighbors had stopped offering condolences and no longer brought over casseroles, there was quiet in the apartment and a stillness that she could breathe in. At first she contributed the lack of flow to stress over her father's passing, but a month after that she no longer had that comforting thought.

Lisa spent some time being frantic, she figured that was normal. She hadn't been on birth control, and she'd never make that mistake again, but he had been pretty adamant about using protection. Wasn't it just her luck that her one night of no consequences fun would include that less than 2 chance of condom breakage and a pregnancy?

Children hadn't been included in her life plan until she was at least twenty seven and well-established enough to have her own fitness center, but Lisa didn't debate whether she should keep the baby or not. She didn't call Dean either, although she had his phone number written on a piece of scrap paper. He had been a one night stand, that had been all she wanted from him, and that was all she needed him to be.

She had no family except a grandmother in New Mexico who renounced her when Lisa told her she was keeping the illegitimate child. So she did it on her own. She bought the baby books and went to appointments and put together a crib and worked full time, developing a yoga class based around expectant mothers, and she was fine.

More than fine really, she was happy. She'd been at a loss over her father, but the baby gave her purpose and a hope that life was never really over. She was going to be a mother, and that was a miracle.

The sex of the baby was a secret. Lisa wanted to be surprised. So when the doctor placed her little boy in her arms, she just watched him, so tiny and perfect, and decided to name him Benjamin. Benjamin Isaac, something for her father and something that was just her baby boy.

"Father's name?"

"Dean Winchester," she replied absently, still dreamy over Ben's ten fingers and ten toes.

"So his full name will be Benjamin Isaac Winchester?" the nurse asked, writing down the information to be typed up in the newborn's birth certificate.

"No!" Lisa yelled, alarmed, and then spent several moments calming Ben. "No," she repeated, "Benjamin Isaac Braeden. His father isn't around."

"Ah." The nurse looked sympathetic, as if she had helped deliver too many babies with dead beat dads, and maybe she had, but Dean would never get the opportunity to become a father like that because Dean would never know. Ben was hers.

It was almost eight years later, seven years after she had thrown out the piece of paper with his number, when Lisa even acknowledged that Ben was also Dean's. Not that she had forgotten Dean Winchester. There was no way that would ever happen, and she'd let slip at a few get-togethers with the other single mothers in Morning Hill just _why_ that was, it was just that Ben was hers and he was himself. It was just the two of them, together, and that was all that mattered.

"I want a race car cake!" he announced, pacing in front of her as they planned his birthday party. Ben loved cars, especially old American made classics.

"Okay," she agreed indulgently.

"I want to invite all the kids in the neighborhood, especially Maggie McMahon." The little brunette was Ben's crush of the week. "But not Ryan Humphrey."

"That's fine." The Humphrey boy was a bully, Ben didn't need to be around his sort.

"And a moon bounce!"

Lisa laughed, "I'll see what I can do."

"Awesome! Chicks love moon bounces," he confided, plopping down beside her. Lisa wrapped an arm around him and he relaxed against her.

"And what do you want for a present?"

"The _Back in Black_ album!" he said, excitement in his voice.

"Who's the artist?" She racked her brain for a reference, but Ben's taste in music had always run opposite of hers.

He rolled his eyes, "AC/DC, Mom," as if she should have known it.

"One CD is kind of small for a Mom-present, what else do you want?"

She watched him as he thought, his small face scrunched; lips pushed outward, brow furrowed, and he gave the back of his head a brief scratch. "I dunno," and then his face cleared, "Surprise me."

Lisa thought she might stop breathing. He was looking at her out of lash-lined green eyes, freckles that she didn't notice unless they were nose to nose speckled his cheeks, and he was smiling that little half-smile he'd been giving her since infancy. It took her back to another time and another place and she remembered that her son had a father somewhere out there in the world who would never meet the little boy who made up her entire world.

"Baby, I love you," she whispered, knowing he wouldn't understand her shift in mood. Lisa pressed a kiss to his forehead and ran a hand through that dark hair he'd inherited from her and pulled him in for a hug.

He struggled slightly because he was almost eight and therefore too old for hugs, but finally heaved a great sigh and cuddled into the embrace. When she pulled away, she was smiling and he was giving her a look of utmost exasperation. "Are we done with the chick-flick moment?"

She pretended to think about it, "I suppose so…" She gave one last little squeeze and let him slide from her lap.

"I want balloons too," he announced, as if he had to reassert his dominance as the man of the house, "A lot of balloons."

Lisa felt the smile come back and pushed away all thoughts of Dean Winchester. "Whatever you want, baby. Now, go get ready for bed, and I'll come tuck you in." It was a mother-son routine he had yet to grow out of and Lisa cherished every night as he got older and older.

"Mommy?" He was standing in the archway from the living room to the foyer.

"What is it Ben?"

"I love you too," he mumbled, a blush rising in his face, and he shot her a shy loving glance at the admittance and dashed up the stairs.

Lisa leaned back against the couch cushions and savored the look, holding the brightness of his eyes in her mind until it was committed to memory like so many other Ben-moments.

There would come a time when he wouldn't call her Mommy or let her put him to bed. There would be a time when he came home past curfew grinning and slurring and she would have to ground him for drinking underage. There would come a time when Ben brought home the girl who would replace her. But the time Lisa feared the most was going to be when Ben asked about the father who wasn't there and wouldn't ever be.

But until then, he would be her baby boy and she hoped to be enough for the young man he was becoming and to be forgiven by the man he would be.

**TBC…**


	2. Last

_Part 2: Last_

Dean measured his life by years, his and Sammy's, and land marked the big events. He occasionally went through the photo album of his existence to remember.

When Dean was four his mother tucked him into bed with a kiss on his forehead and told him angels were watching over him. He woke up that night to shouting and saw his mother on the ceiling in Sammy's room, bleeding. Scared, he headed for the bathroom to find the band-aids that would fix her and thought magic thoughts for the get-better kiss he would give her, but then there was heat and fire and Daddy was shoving his little brother in his arms and telling him to go outside.

Sammy was a little less than a year old when he said his first word, and Dean was so proud of him. He'd been coaching Sammy over the months, hoping that their dad would stop moving them to strange places and yelling and drinking if he could prove how well he'd been taking care of his brother. But John Winchester was focused on the book Pastor Jim had given him and when Sammy finally said 'dada' in his baby voice he was looking at his big brother.

Dean was eight and Sammy was four when three and a half years of watching the brat had gotten to be too much for Dean and when Dad left the motel room he had followed a few hours later. The look his father gave him when he came home to a shtriga sucking the soul out of his youngest was enough for Dean to know that Sammy was to be protected at all times, and it was his job as big brother to make sure that happened. And so Dean's world began to revolve around his brother and their father became a satellite where before he was the sun.

"What's God's favorite color?"

Dean rolled his eyes and looked at his five-year-old brother, whose inquisitive eyes were fixed on Dean's face. To tell the truth, Dean didn't mind these types of questions. It kept Sammy from asking why they didn't have a mom and what Dad did when he left them alone for almost a week. It was just that the kid had asked this particular question every day this week. Yesterday it had been blue. "Green," he replied.

"Why?"

"'Cause it's the color of my eyes," Dean quipped, batting them at Sammy. His brother giggled and shifted so that he was leaning back against the tree like Dean was, staring out over the playground.

"For real, Dean," he insisted.

"Look around Sammy," Dean waved his hand to indicate the bright grass and the way the summer sun seeped through the canopy of leaves above them. "There's so much of it, how can it not be?"

Sammy sighed, "I like that answer."

At eight, Sammy followed Dean around like a puppy and tried to copy everything his big brother did. At twelve, Sammy stopped being Sammy and started being Sam and began glaring at Dean whenever he teased the younger boy about his weight. At fifteen and nineteen their prank war came to an abrupt end when John got caught in the Skittles-in-the-showerhead trick instead of Sam and Dean ended up cleaning every single weapon they owned.

"He's just…such a bastard."

Sam was drunk. Dean was amused. The younger, underage, brother staggered a little and leaned heavily into his big brother's shoulder. Dean grunted at the shift in weight and adjusted his balance to support Sam's surprising mass and freakish height. "He's dad."

"Yeah, but…I could be in France right now."

Dean propped his brother against the Impala's passenger door. "And French chicks are hot, besides the not shaving thing, but who wants to be holed up at some geeky mock-UN thing?"

"I do!" It was a plaintive whine and so very Sam that Dean let out a chuckle as he got the teenager strapped in.

"Suck it up," Dean advised, getting comfortable in his own seat.

"Dude." Sam was slurring now, eyes at half mast as he look at his brother. "I love you, man."

The last time Sam had said he loved him was six years prior, before he turned into the teenager from hell. Dean smiled and said, "Love you too, kiddo," because there was no way in hell Sam would remember this conversation the next morning, "but if you puke on my interior, I will kill you."

At eighteen Sam slammed the door behind him and didn't look back. Dean had to chase his brother down and drive him to the bus station. The silence was full of unspoken words and accusations but Sam still hugged him good-bye. His little brother stared at him out of the window until the bus pulled too far forward and Dean didn't look away.

He was mad at Sam for a long time for leaving, for leaving him behind. He didn't understand how Sam could turn his back on his family for 'normal', but he forgave him, because Sammy deserved to have a real life if that was what he wanted. And if Dean never got to be a firefighter or get married, well, he'd made his choice at sixteen and he was sticking with it. So he rode shotgun when Dad went to check up on Sammy, bragged about his little brother's accomplishments to whoever would listen, and did the job, and that was his life.

"Dean?"

"Beer me."

Sam's confusion was obvious as he moved aside to let Dean walk into his dorm room. "Mind if I crash for a few nights?" He didn't wait for an answer as he dropped his duffel on Sam's bed.

"Yeah. Is…is everything okay? Is dad-"

"It's fine Sammy, I just wanted a little break," he interrupted his brother's questions.

"It's Sam."

"Sure thing," Dean replied with a smirk, glad his distraction tactic had worked, "So, where's the nearest bar?" He headed back out the door, throwing Sam a jacket that was lying on a chair. "You do still have your fake ID, right?"

"Yeah." Sam slipped the jacket on and followed Dean, expression still troubled.

"Your face is gonna freeze that way," Dean told him, hating when Sam got that furrow in his forehead. "Seriously, just chill."

So Dean spent the night sitting on a bar stool with his twenty year old brother drinking beer after beer while Sam talked about all the amazing classes he was taking and the intramural soccer team his friends had talked him into joining and the blonde in his Ethics class that he was working up the nerve to ask out. Dean told him to go for it with the blonde and tried not to think of the look on Cassie's face when she'd told him to leave and he'd realized yet again that he was just never going to have the apple pie life Sam seemed to be adapting to so well.

At twenty-six he stood across from his brother and asked Sam to come with him. At twenty-two, Sam stood next to Jessica Lee Moore, the love of his life, and refused. But Dean knew how his little brother worked and soon enough Sam was back to riding shotgun, working a case. At twenty-two, Sam lost the love of his life and then his father, and at twenty-three, Sam Winchester was dead.

Dean stood at a crossroads at twenty-seven and sold his soul so that his brother could live.

He pretty much considered that the most important moment in his soon-to-be ended existence. So, for the year that he had left he wanted to eat what he wanted, to screw who he wanted, and to kill however many evil sonsofbitches he happened to come into contact with.

It was the second point on his short list that had him knocking on the door of 343 Morning Glory Lane to visit Lisa Braeden, the girl with whom he'd spent a very bendy night almost nine years ago. Ben was a surprise, a strange mixture of cockiness and bashfulness was present in the little boy, and Dean felt his heart pounding as he watched the kid scramble behind a skirt into the moon bounce present at his birthday party.

Lisa said no, Ben wasn't his. Dean accepted that, even if her voice was high and panicked as she protested, and tried not to think on it. He and Sam would be moving on soon and he wasn't going to get involved. But then Ben was sitting on that bench looking like Sam had at the same age when Dean had told him they didn't have any more Lucky Charms and he'd walked over.

Damn if that kid wasn't something. One solid knee to the groin and the big boy was down, Ben giving him another shot just to make sure, and Dean felt himself copy the grin on the eight-year-old's face.

And then the kid was hugging him and Dean wanted to press him closer and pretend for a moment that this was his son. He cussed himself up one side and down the other after that incident and knew there was no fucking way that kid wasn't his and knowing that changed his plans for the remainder of the year.

The pride he'd felt watching Ben get those kids out of that basement, so cool and collected under pressure, couldn't be diminished by Lisa's denial. Dean was good at reading people and Lisa's story was too detailed and she was trying too hard to keep eye contact while she spoke. She was lying and he was disappointed, but he also knew it was for the best. He couldn't live their life, he'd given up hope of normal a long time ago and having less than a year of it would never be enough.

What Dean could do was make sure he took out as many demons as possible before they took him so that Ben could live in a world that was just a little bit safer. What Dean could do was protect Sam so that Ben would have an uncle to help raise him and keep _him_ protected.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Sam raised his head, meeting his brother's eyes warily and a little angry, "I sent her away."

"I told you I was going to exorcise that black-eyed bitch," Dean bit out. Sam didn't respond, instead picking up the scattered pieces of the ritual Dean had destroyed. "Sam!"

"She was our last hope, Dean." His little brother's voice held that edge that said it wouldn't be long before he started yelling.

"She's a demon."

Sam glared at him, biting his lip, and Dean wasn't sure if he was trying not to shout or not to cry. "You have a week, Dean."

"I know."

"Seven days."

"I _know_, Sam."

He'd been systematically sabotaging all of Sam's attempts to get him out of his deal with the Red-Eyed Demon that ran the crossroads. There was no way in hell he was letting his brother die again, not for him, and he was pretty sure the demon didn't care about the loopholes Sam's lawyer brain thought up. Weaseling and welching was weaseling and welching, and that was that.

On his last night alive he went to a bar and let Sam mope in their motel room. He'd let Sam know his last wishes when he got back, but for now he'd enjoy one last beer and a good flirt with the petite redhead behind the bar. His one regret was that Ruby was still walking around wearing coma-girl's body and making cow eyes at his brother, and damned if Sammy wasn't falling for it.

"So this is what you do for your last night on earth? Drink and get frisky?"

Dean took another sip of his beer. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. She leaned against the bar nonchalantly, watching the room; whether it was for threats or victims, he didn't know.

"You shoot me, who's gonna watch our Sammy's back?"

"I'd feel a lot better about you watching his back if you weren't a demon. Or, you know, a bitch." She finally looked him full in the face, pupils dilated the way they always were, as if she couldn't quite hide what she was. "And if I wasn't certain you'd stick a knife in it."

Ruby sighed and, surprised, he thought she looked at little worn-out. "Look, Dean, we don't see eye to eye, but I'll swear on whatever the hell you need me to that I'm not trying to hurt Sam. I want to help him."

He snorted, "You want to get into his pants."

She smirked, "Well, yeah."

Dean shook his head but felt a laugh escape. "Fine, truce. But I find out you betrayed him in anyway, and I've heard demons talk, so I will find out, hell or no, I will find a way to drag your ass back down there."

"Deal."

"Now get out of here before I change my mind and put a bullet in you."

"Wouldn't do much good."

"It'd make me feel better," he said as she sauntered away.

Sam wasn't okay with his decision to go alone, but he was firm and Sam didn't have much of a choice. He drove to the crossroads secure in the knowledge that Sam would get his life back and that his son would be taken care of, and that that bitch, Bela, wouldn't get her greedy hands on his amulet, and walked to the middle of four gravel roads and waited.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you here." His comeback died on his tongue as he turned to face her. "What's the matter, Dean?" seductive lips formed the words and big brown eyes turned red for a moment, "I had to go all the way to New York to get this body, it was quite a trip."

"How-"

"There's not a lot I can't find out, honey. I always know people's deepest desires, part of the job description."

"You fuckin' bitch."

She laughed, a laugh he only heard in his dreams, and walked toward him, innocent white dress blowing in the breeze. "I thought you'd be happy."

Dean wondered if Carmen would remember how she got halfway across the country and be confused as she listened to the conversation, trapped in her own mind, or if she'd wake up lost and scared to find a dead body at her feet. "Let's just get this over with."

"Fine by me." She stalked toward him, smiling, and he had to fight with himself to not retreat. And then she stopped, looking beyond him, and hissed, "You're not supposed to be here."

He spun to see another woman, this one in black, standing just behind him. "I know you," he said uncertainly, because the pretty face and serene eyes seemed familiar even if he couldn't put his finger on where he knew her from.

"Yes," she agreed, smiling softly.

"He's mine, we had a deal," The crossroads demon was angry. "He can't back out of it without his precious baby brother dying," Carmen's face was sneering now, "You can't have him."

"You'll find I had first dibs on his soul," the woman in black was saying, "It was only an ill-made deal made by his father that prevented him from coming with me."

Dean recalled a soft hand in his hair and gentle words that was followed by yellow-eyes and the pain of waking up. "You're my Reaper."

"Yes, Dean, and you're coming with me."

"I can't let Sammy die." He took a step backward, toward the demon.

"He won't," the Reaper told him, "You came, sacrificed yourself. You fulfilled your end of the bargain, Dean, she won't be allowed to break the deal."

"But…" He turned to look, but the red-eyed demon was already gone. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to, Dean."

He swallowed, "Does this mean I'm not going to Hell?"

She laughed, "You're not going to Hell, Dean."

"I'm tired," he admitted, voice low.

"I know." She held out her hand, and he took it.

**To be continued…**


	3. Roots

_Part 3: Roots_

"Sam, this isn't up for discussion." Dean had his determined face on and his voice was strained. Sam sighed as he watched his brother take off his ever-present silver ring, bronze amulet, and one of his bracelets. The other remained around his wrist. It would be burned with the body.

"We can stop this, Ruby said-"

"We're not listening to that damned demon and I'm not backing out of this deal." His brother's hazel eyes were bright. "I'm not letting you die, Sammy."

"And you think it's all right that I let you?" Sam demanded, furious with Dean's hypocrisy on this subject. "I'm not okay with that."

"Sam."

"No, Dean, just don't give up, okay…just don't. I can't…Please," he felt the tears drip down his face and didn't care that he was crying in front of his brother, "Please, no."

"Sammy." The raspy voice had gone soft and he sensed Dean sit beside him on the ratty motel bed, his older brother's arm rested along his back and Sam automatically leaned into Dean's strength. "Sammy," he said again.

"I can't do this without you," Sam mumbled into his shoulder, "I don't want to."

"You don't have to. I want you to go back to school."

Sam's head came up, "What?"

Dean licked his lips, not looking at his younger brother. "Go back to school. I called Jefferson, he's got some papers ready; a new identity, birth certificate, school records, all that jazz. Get your degree and do what you wanted to do with your life before I barged back into it. I just have one favor."

"Dean-"

"You need to keep an eye on Ben."

"Dean-" Sam tried again.

"He's mine, Sammy." The hazel eyes were wide once more, and the red rimming them made the irises look greener. Dean bounced off the bed to start pacing. He met Sam's gaze and Sam knew that he looked way too sympathetic. "Don't give me that look. I know Lisa lied, I know it. So you…you need to look after them and make sure Ben knows that I love him."

"I don't think-"

"Stop thinking so much, Sammy," Dean interrupted again. "Dude," he sounded so tired, "He's my kid, and I want you to make sure he knows that and I want you to be there for him because I'm not gonna be able to be."

Sam hated hearing him talk this way. He had been so sure that he would find a way to save his brother. He'd tried so many different methods until all he had left was to rely on Ruby's offer. And Ruby had come through, she had prepared a ritual to keep Dean's soul anchored to this plane of existence, but Dean had destroyed it, spitting mad and ready to send Sam's unasked for companion back to hell. And now, it was too late. Tomorrow Dean's year was up, and Sam hadn't been able to complete the most important task he'd had in his life; save Dean.

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up." Sam looked up at him miserably. "Just promise me."

"I promise."

"Good," Dean took a deep breath, "I'll head out to the crossroads tonight, no sense being chased down by hellhounds. Come pick up the car tomorrow and give me a nice funeral pyre." He gave a half-hearted smile, "Something Darth Vader worthy." Sam couldn't work up the energy to even try to put on a brave face. Dean picked up the items he had just taken off. "Bury the bracelet in Lawrence, keep the ring," he made a motion with his hand to cut off Sam's protestation, "and I want Ben to have the necklace."

Sam nodded, "All right."

"And when he's old enough, my knife and the Impala." At Sam's incredulous look, Dean shrugged. "My dying wish Sammy, don't be a bitch about it."

"You are such a jerk," but his voice was strangled and he hid his face in his palms to keep from sobbing.

Dean made a sound of exasperation and hauled Sam to his feet. "You get one chick-flick moment, and one only, so…let's go." And Sam crushed his brother to him, and Dean held him just as hard, and he felt the air going out of his lungs, but he never wanted Dean to let go and he never wanted to let go, and God, if he could just freeze this moment…But time waits for no man, not even Dean Winchester.

So that was why Sam was driving down the highway toward Cicero, Indiana with bloodshot eyes, a headache the size of Texas, and ash still in his hair.

The Impala was out of place in the suburbia that was Morning Hill Gated Community, but Sam had long since stopped noticing the strange looks the rumbling monster of a car attracted, and he parked across from the house that belonged to Lisa Braeden, the mother of Dean's child. Sam took the key from the ignition and sat for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to prepare himself for sharing the information of his brother's death.

A knock on the window startled him and he looked to the side into sardonic blue eyes. A growl escaped his throat and he heaved himself out of the car. "What are you doing here?"

Ruby shrugged, leaning against the door he had just shut, "Just checking in."

"I don't want to see you right now." He could still remember her flippant response when he'd told her what Dean had done. She'd been indifferent to his grief and he'd banished her in his anger. He refused to take note that the exile had prevented Dean from exorcising her.

"Too bad, I'm here." Blonde hair was tossed carelessly over her shoulder, and she reached out, fingers touching the silver ring that now rested on his right hand. He moved it away and she said nothing.

"I've got business to take care of."

"I'll wait." He glared at her and she gave him one of her twisted little smiles. "We're going to Lawrence, next, right? Dig into the Mary-mystery you've been putting off and finish burying your brother." He closed his eyes against the rage at her nonchalance.

"I'm done hunting."

"Yeah, right," she mocked, "With all the 'evil sons of bitches' still out there? What would Dean say?"

"Dean wanted me to go back to school."

"You have too much to do," she replied, and heat colored her voice, "You can play at being normal after we're done."

He looked at the house across the street, black door beckoning. "I can't do this right now, Ruby. Please, just go away." He heard the rustle of clothing as she straightened and then silence. Sam risked a glance back and she was gone. He let out a sigh of relief before steeling his shoulders and heading toward the Braeden home. Ruby would be back.

The doorbell rang with those musical chimes that Jess had always found charming and he had grit his teeth over, and it was only a matter of moments before it was opened and he was face to face with Lisa. Her dark eyes studied him, as if she couldn't quite place him. "I know you, don't I?" she asked.

He nodded, "Sam Winchester."

Those eyes widened, "Dean's brother."

"Yeah. Look, I know this is a bit of a surprise, but can I talk to you?"

It was her turn to nod and she moved out of the way, gesturing him in. "What's up? Where's Dean?" Her eyes searched behind him, noting the empty car sitting across the street as she shut the door. He followed her to the kitchen and caught sight of Ben in the living room, dark head bent over a notebook, bobbing his head to whatever music his CD player was playing. His nephew…

"Dean, um, he…" Sam couldn't say it.

"He what?"

"He's dead." It was blunt, he knew that, but sugar-coating it would've made it even harder to say. His brother was dead, and he couldn't deal with delicacy.

"Oh my God." Lisa sank down onto one of the table chairs.

"Yeah, and he…Look, he told me you said Ben wasn't his, but he was pretty convinced that he _was_ actually his son, so that's why I'm here." He was keeping his voice low, just in case Ben had taken an interest in the visitor. He wasn't sure what the consequences of his coming here would be. "He is, isn't he?"

**He knew**, the thought was faint, but Sam picked it up easily, and was glad for once of his sporadic powers, **Thank God he knew**.

"Yes, he is. I…I can't believe…I'm sorry." Her eyes were warm with sympathy but slightly glazed with shock.

"We knew it was going to happen, I just…I couldn't stop it." He could hear the guilt in his voice and shook it off angrily, it wasn't why he was here. "Dean, he wanted me to help take care of Ben." Her eyes shot to his and he offered a small smile. "I know you don't need my help, but I want to. I have some things to wrap up first, demon stuff, but I'm going to be settling down as soon as that's done, and I was hoping you wouldn't mind if it was around here." He looked over at Ben, who met his eyes frankly, headphones still in place. "He's my nephew," and if _that_ didn't sound strange, "I want to be here for him."

Lisa considered him closely, "I'm sure Ben will appreciate that. He'll have questions."

"Understandable," Sam said wryly.

"He had a lot last time you were here, had a little case of hero-worship." She was smiling fondly at her son.

"Dean can inspire that sometimes," Sam agreed, thinking of how he'd idolized his brother when he was a kid.

"Just…I need you to explain St. Louis and Milwaukee?" Sam's head came up at the sound of those hated cities. "Ben wanted to see what the internet could turn up. I told him I couldn't find anything, but I need to know what happened. After the _thing_ here, I figured it must have been something out of the ordinary. That it had to be."

"Shapeshifter, both times. Dean didn't have good luck with shifters." Come to think of it, neither did he.

"Shapeshifter," she echoed.

"Yep."

"Just so you know, I'm not going to want to hear about those types of things."

"Gotcha." His eyes strayed again toward the little boy in the next room. "Is it okay if I tell Ben?"

Her gaze followed his and she nodded, biting her lip. "Yes." She sighed, "Yes."

Sam approached the kid slowly, trying to memorize every inch of him. _This was_ _Dean's son_. He sat on the couch perpendicular to Ben's and waited for the boy to notice him. Ben finally did, again, his gaze was straightforward, and Sam scrunched his forehead to ward off the prickling behind his eyes. Ben's eyes were hazel, leaning more toward green than brown, and they were _Dean's_ eyes.

"Take a picture," the kid quipped, taking off his headphones, "It'll last longer."

A chuckle escaped him, "Hey Ben, do you remember me?"

The boy examined him, "You were here with Dean. You helped save me and the other kids."

"Yeah, that's me. I'm Sam." He looked at the floor and then back at Ben. "I'm your uncle. Dean…Dean was your dad."

Ben blinked, "Sweet." And then as Sam tried to find someway to tell the small boy that his father was dead, Ben spoke again. "You said 'was'," he pointed out shrewdly and Sam realized that Ben had inherited Dean's ability to pick up on subtext, even if he didn't always act on it, as well as his eyes. "He's gone right? Like my grandpa?" The tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were slightly lost. The way Dean's had been after his run in with the Djinn last year. God, Dean was _gone_.

"Yeah, but," he took a deep breath, "I'm here, if you want me." Ben just stared at him. Sam reached a hand into his pocket, hand tightening over the necklace, and he pulled it out. "Dean wanted you to have this, he never took it off." A small hand picked it up out of Sam's larger one and put it on. The cord was too long and the amulet hung too far down. Sam smiled, "You'll grow into it." And then Sam finally said it, "He loved you."

Ben's hand ghosted over the charm, "Thanks Uncle Sammy."

His smile grew, "It's just Sam."

The little face was disapproving, "No way I'm calling you Uncle Sam, dude." Sam was sporting a full-on grin now, even as tears threatened again. Ben's eyes narrowed, "You're not gonna hug me now, right?"

"'Fraid so, kiddo," Sam whispered, wrapping his arms around the boy. Small arms reached around to squeeze back and a warmth settled in his heart because as long as Ben was around, Dean would never really be dead. This was Dean's son, and Sam was going to make sure Ben had the life Dean would want him to have, the life Dean hadn't been able to have.

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Wings

_AN: _I know some people didn't like how similar Ben was to Dean, but honestly the show played that up and i thought it was adorable, so I ran with it. Just fair warning for the chapter, because Ben is _so_ Dean in it. (I should probably mention that I wrote this fic backwards and that part 4 was the first part I wrote.)

_Part 4: Wings_

The last bell had rung ten minutes ago, but Ben decided to stay after to help Ms. May clean up the rousing game of Government Jeopardy. Ben didn't care much about government or brownie points, but he did care about the fact that Ms. May was 22, blonde, and up for borderline illegal innuendo. So when it was finally time to head for his locker and subsequently his car and his home, the last thing he wanted to deal with after a totally accidental graze of Ms. May's cleavage, was Ryan Humphrey.

Ryan had steered clear of him after third grade, when Ben had proven that the playground incident the year before wasn't a fluke and he really could kick the bigger boy's ass regardless of the fact that he was still shorter and skinnier, but Ryan still hadn't given up on being a bully. Ben hated bullies. He pushed through the small group of people surrounding a huddled form on the floor. "Hey, Humphrey."

Ryan turned, face annoyed at the interruption, and Ben allowed himself a small smirk at the slight flash of fear that transformed the expression. "Braeden, this isn't any of your business."

Ben shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets, and didn't even look at Ryan's newest victim. "I'm making it my business. So how about you and your Barbies get lost?" He gave Ryan's three blonde minions a look of disdain and cocked his head in the direction of the exit.

"Braeden-"

"Now Humphrey, before I decide your mother doesn't need grandchildren."

Ryan paled, hand instinctively reaching to cover the threatened area. "Fine. Chump's learned his lesson anyway. Move!" he shouted at the high schoolers still clustered around the scene. They jumped and he stormed away, cronies following hurriedly.

Ben finally looked down at the kid Ryan had been tormenting as the bloodthirsty teenagers started to disperse. A mop of orange hair kept the boy's face hidden as he picked up a sketch pad and put it into his backpack. He wondered it if was the fact that the kid was an artist or just because he was new that had pissed Ryan off, but it didn't really matter. Humphrey was a jack ass and one day Ben really was going to have to prevent him from spawning.

Once the crowd had scattered, Ben reached out a hand to the kid on the floor. "You okay?" Brown eyes blinked up at him from a face that hadn't lost all its baby fat and the other boy gave a nod, long hair falling into his eyes. "Ryan's a bitch. He starts picking on you again just kick him in the nads."

The hand that gripped his was slender, but the hold was firm and Ben gave just a little tug to help him to his feet. He looked over at the boy and then looked up and up. "You're a tall one, aren't you?" he observed, slightly envious. He was just 5'10" and was still waiting for his next growth spurt. The boy gave a little smile and shrugged. "I'm Ben."

"Lucas." His voice was soft and slightly unused.

"Well, welcome to Cicero High, Luke." He gave the kid a pat on the back and started walking. It took him a minute to realize the kid wasn't following. "You comin' or what?" Lucas started, scooped his bag off the floor and rushed to catch up. "First day?"

Luke nodded.

"Not so good, huh?"

Luke shrugged.

Ben glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, "You don't talk much, do ya kid?"

Luke stopped, looking surprised, and then gave a rueful little smile. "Not really, no."

"That's cool, chicks dig the silent sensitive type. Bet they think you're a real good listener." He smirked back at his new companion as he stopped at his locker. "So, you a freshman?"

"Junior."

"Really?" Ben felt his eyebrows rise, "You got wheels?"

"When I graduate. I have a '65 red Mustang picked out."

Ben snorted, "No offense, dude, but Mustangs are for pussies."

"You've got better?"

"'67 cherry black Chevy Impala, she's absolute mint. My dad left her to me and Uncle Sammy dropped her off soon as I got my license."

"You have an Uncle Sam?" he sounded amused.

Rolling his eyes, Ben gave the other kid a death glare. "Uncle Sammy, and if you say one word about patriotic posters and finger pointing I won't let you see my girl for a whole month," he threatened.

"Hi Ben."

He spun at the interruption, grin in place, "Hey Stella." The pretty cheerleader stood in what he deemed standard flirting position; hands clutching a binder, hair down over her shoulders, lips pouting and eyes wide.

"You going to Chase's party tonight?"

"Are you?" he countered.

She nodded, flipping dark hair over one bared shoulder, "I don't know. I was thinking about dropping by, but his parties are always so loud and crowded. There's no place to really sit and _talk_."

"I'm definitely going," he said, ignoring her attempts at being coy, "Gotta show my new friend, Lucas, the ropes." He planted a friendly hand on Lucas' shoulder. "Have you met Lucas yet, Stella?"

"No, no I haven't." She gave Lucas a strained smile. "I think we have Palmer's chemistry class together, though. I remember the painful introduction." Lucas ducked his head and Ben figured the blush indicated he was embarrassed. "Hi, I'm Stella Gonzales."

"Hi," he offered, voice just as low as it had been when he'd first spoken to Ben.

"Well…I guess I'll see you at the party."

"We'll be there," Ben agreed. She walked off with one last look over her shoulder and put a little sway in her hips. Ben admired the view.

"She seems nice."

"Yeah," Ben grinned at him, "She's real nice, and those gymnastics she needs as a cheerleader are a real bonus."

Lucas looked at him speculatively, "So you two have…"

"Sealed the deal? Yeah."

"And now?"

"Now she wants to have a relationship. I don't do relationships." Ben closed his locker and headed for an exit. "What? You're looking at me like I have two heads. It's kinda freaking me out, man."

"How _old_ are you?"

"I'll be seventeen in two months."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Why? You just told me you had sex with someone like you did it every week."

"Not every week," Ben corrected

"Dude, you're like…I mean…You're sixteen!"

Ben didn't really see the point to this line of conversation. "Are you saying you've never done it?"

"I just met you. I'm not having this conversation." And the other boy started walking.

"You haven't, have you?" Ben asked, smirking as he trotted to catch up.

"That's none of your business," Luke muttered, "Where are the freakin' buses?"

"They left like twenty minutes ago," Ben said, "So, how long you planning on hanging onto that virginity?" He held his hands up at the dark look Lucas sent him, "I'm just saying, I could hook you up."

"No thanks. Do you know how to get to Birch Street?"

"Yeah, I'll give you a ride," Ben said, moving toward his car.

"I can walk," Lucas protested.

Ben shot him a 'yeah, right' look. "Its five miles away and you have no idea where you're going."

"I think I might remember the bus route…"

"Dude, just let me drive you, it's no big deal. Birch is, like, two minutes from Morning Hill." Lucas was still hesitating, as if he couldn't quite figure out why Ben was being so nice to him. Tell the truth, Ben wasn't either, but he assumed it had something to do with Lucas' height. The kid kinda reminded him of his Uncle Sammy. "Come on."

Lucas hitched his bag up to a more comfortable position on his shoulder and started walking back to Ben's side. "You're not, like, a psychopathic serial killer are you?"

It made Ben laugh. "No." They continued walking. Ben always parked the farthest out, unwilling to risk fender benders and scratches to his baby among all the less skilled drivers of Cicero High School. "There she is," Ben announced, "Told you she was gorgeous." He ran an appreciative hand over the car's paint job and glanced back to catch Lucas' face when he saw the Impala.

The stunned, startled expression was not what he expected, and when Lucas' eyes darted from the car to Ben, lingering on his necklace, Ben wasn't sure what to make of it. "What…what was your last name again?"

Eyebrows raised, be responded to the question the way he always did. "Officially, it's Braeden. Unofficially…" he smirked, "it's Winchester."

Brown eyes sharpened and met his own hazel. "I've met your father."

It was like to a punch to the gut. Lucas had met Dean Winchester. "He died when I was eight," he found himself saying, "I only met him once."

"I'm sorry." And Lucas had known his father, so Ben knew he meant it. "He…he saved my life. He was a good man."

Ben already knew that, but he loved hearing it. In his mind his dad was larger than life and he hung on every story his uncle told from their childhood and adulthood. When he was younger he'd ask repeatedly for tales of his father from anyone who had ever met him. His mother didn't like to discuss Dean Winchester; she told Ben he had been fun and funny and that he'd forgiven her for lying to him. She told Ben that Dean was proud to be his father even if he never got the chance to tell his son. So Ben settled for pestering his uncle and the people Sam introduced him to over the years.

Bobby Singer always had the best information, and was never afraid to give Ben the good details that Sam left out. Ellen Harvelle talked about his loyalty and his love of his family, how he'd do anything to protect those he thought of as his. Old Jefferson Knight liked to talk about the way he had handled his weapons like an extension of his body and how he much he embraced the job and what a loss it was to the hunting community. Missouri Moseley always said Dean was a bucket of trouble and Ben was just like him. Ben liked visiting Missouri.

He hadn't known his father for more than a day, but he clung to the memories he did have. In that short time, Dean had taught Ben the most important lesson he'd ever learn; to fight for what was his.

"What…" His voice cut off, and his eyes burned, and he hated that it affected him like that. Sometimes, when someone said something about his father and Ben wasn't expecting it, he got a little girly, knowing he'd never know his father the way that person knew him except through anecdotes if they felt so inclined to tell them.

"Vengeful spirit," Lucas said, intuitively answering the unasked question.

Ben nodded and opened the trunk and the two boys dropped their backpacks in, a hollow clunk sounded from the hidden compartment. It was empty except for a first aid kit, some herbs, salt, holy water, and a Bowie knife that Dean had left him along with the amulet and the car. Soon enough, Ben would start filling it with his own collection of weapons and when he was done with high school and attending college, he'd start going on his own gigs. Uncle Sammy had promised and his mom had reluctantly agreed to the terms.

"Hey," Ben closed the trunk and met Lucas' curious face, "My uncle's taking me on a hunt this weekend; poltergeist in Delphi, you want in?"

"Are you serious?" A smile was working its way across the redhead's face.

Ben felt an answering smile, "I could use a sidekick."

"What about your party?"

With a shrug he opened the driver's side door, "Not nearly as much fun as a salt and burn."

The passenger side door opened with a creak, "I'll have to think of something to tell my mom." Lucas slid into the seat, relaxing back against the leather and marveling at the leg room.

"Tell her you're spending the weekend with a classmate to get to know the town. Mom's love that buddy-buddy stuff." The doors shut in unison and Ben started the car, the engine practically purring.

"Then I'm in," Lucas said. "Hey," he was riffling through the cassette box that was behind Ben's seat, "You got any Zeppelin?"

Kid had good taste, Ben would give him that, but AC/DC, Led Zeppelin was not. "House rules, Luke." He slipped on his shades and stepped on the gas. "Driver picks the music," he gave the other boy a shit-eating grin as he turned up the volume, "Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

_Back in black…_

**End**


End file.
